Park Fiction
by I just shot Marvin in the face
Summary: An adaptation of Pulp Fiction, but with a South Park twist. Will include Style, Bunny, and Candy pairings. Warnings include language, violence, and a noncon moment later on for one of the characters.


There are two things I like about this place:

Tweak Brothers Coffee isn't the nicest shop in town, but the prices are cheap, the coffee is passable, and the servers don't bug you, which individually don't matter to me but together, they create the first reason I like this place: it's the perfect place to lay low and get some breakfast.

The second thing I like about this place, is that you can find all kinds of people. Take for example, the two guys who just walked in. They're dressed like a couple of dorks, with faded t-shirts, and shorts. Who fucking dresses like that in Colorado in October? It's fucking cold out. The black-haired one looks rattled, the Jew-fro like he's not all here. They come here all the time. I wonder if they're together yet. They've been playing the "will they, won't they" shit since elementary school. Everyone seems to see it but them. It would make sense. Lots of fags in our class.

Or you can take the man sitting across the booth from me. My man. He's a true gentleman, though I've been working on that. He's British, a little timid, but great in the sack. He's a very generous person. He got bullied a lot by the important kids, like said two fags, when we were younger, but eventually he just sort of faded into the background. That's where I found him, and that's where we've been ever since, no one really giving a fuck about us, except each other.

This morning, we're discussing work.

"Darling, are you sure you want to do this again so soon?"

I smile. He's always worrying.

"You say that every time, Honey. Every time."

I put on a bad Cockney accent.

"Are you sure? We really shouldn't do this. Someone could get hurt."

"I know I always say that Darling, but that doesn't mean it isn't true."

I remind him.

"But we go through with it anyway, don't we?"

"Yes, but maybe this time we shouldn't."

"Pip, do you know what you sound like?"

"No, Love."

I wave to the waiter. He starts to walk over. "This guy."

I turn to the waiter.

"Can I get another coffee please?"

He freaks out, like he always does.

"Jesus, I'm sorry. I'll have it right out."

He turns to leave, then back.

"How do you-"

"Lots of cream. Lots of sugar."

"Right. Sorry. I'll be right back."

I turn back to my boyfriend.

"Is that who you want to be?"

"I want to be alive tomorrow. And I want you to be, also."

I have to smile at that. He continues.

"I love you, Dearest. And I love how talented you are at what you do, what we do, but eventually we'll have to give it up. Someday we'll stick up the wrong person."

It's not like I haven't thought about this before. He's not wrong. Robbing liquor stores, can be a good way to get a quick thousand bucks, but it can also be a good way to get your head blown off. The McCormick kid found that out the hard way in high school, but somehow he was back the next week. I never really paid him much attention, nor he me. I don't think he or his friends ever bothered to learn my real name, instead just opting for the easy nickname.

"So what do you want to do instead?"

"Is going straight an option, love?"

I only have to throw him a look for him to backpedal.

"Well then, how about something a little less dangerous." "Like what?"

"Like..."

He looks around trying to find an answer. Then something clicks in his head. I love watching his mind work.

"Like this place."

I laugh a little.

"This place?"

"Sure."

I'll admit I'm intrigued as he begins to articulate his thought process.

"Do you remember last time, when we robbed the liquor store on Valentine's Day, and all the guys kept coming in to get last minute wine and chocolates?"

I can see where he's going, but I'll let him finish. He's so cute when he knows he's on to something.

"Yes."

"And what did you decide?"

"That we should take all of their wallets."

"And how much did we make from that?"

"More than the register."

"How many people are in here right now?"

I look around.

"Fifteen, twenty?"

"That's a lot of wallets, isn't it?"

I nod. He grins like a devil. I love that grin. He doesn't wear it often. Like I said, I'm working on it.

"And, it has the added bonus of being way less likely to get shot in the process."

And he's back to being fourth grade Pip.

"Pip-"

"Please, Darling."

I look at him. The devil's grin has been replaced with an angel's smile. I can't resist.

"Okay, dear."

Sometimes I wonder if I'm changing him, or he's changing me.

"You ready?" he asks.

I smile and lean in to kiss him.

"I love you, Pip."

"I love you, Red."

He stands up, and pulls out his gun. "Um, excuse me everyone."

No one looks at him or the gun. He's shaking a little. I snort out a laugh.

"Baby, how many times do I have to tell you, it's all about the presentation"

I get out my gun, get up on the booth, and shout.

"Listen up mother-fuckers! This is a robbery! You move, you fucking die!"


End file.
